


The Star

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Galaxy Far Far Away, Caper Fic, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Girls Kissing, Girls with Guns, Hostile Sexual Tension, Jokes, Sci-Fi Swearing, Sci-Fi Violence, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 09:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17139275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: Captain Charlie Bradbury flies and half owns the cargo ram,Gremlin. Occupational hazards include: shady mechanics, trigger-happy hunters—oh, and a cat-burglar ex-girlfriend, who owns the other half.It’s… less than ideal.So, when Dean Winchester shows up, pitching a crazy scheme…





	The Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [specialrhino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/specialrhino/gifts).



> Love and cheer to shifty_gardener! I had so much fun with your prompt and likes. (Puns? Don’t encourage me!) 
> 
> ♥♥♥ May all your days be merry! ♥♥♥
> 
> Infinite thanks to sister [crowroad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowroad/pseuds/crowroad), slayer of nonsense. I love you. And as ever, all gratitude to the challenge mods! Y’all do amazing work. 
> 
> Blessings to everyone in the new year!

Charlie dark-near spits out her drink. “You want to steal, the Star of Christmas.”

“Sh!” Dean glances around. “Are you outta your mind?”

She stares across the battered tabletop. “You’re serious.” Skunky smoke swirls under dim lights.

“Yeah!” Lips scrunch up, shiny and pink. “I got the details covered. Just gotta get a crew.”

Onstage, a torch singer croons in a sapphire gown like living liquid. Low-cut front, side slit to her waist. Doca horn and drums back up a sultry ballad. Dean’s eyes flicker over, lashes stark in silhouette.

Charlie shakes her head. Dark shame, that face on a man. “Pass. I’m out of the business.”

“That ain’t what your old lady said—”

“Ex. Old lady,” Charlie breaks in. “Also, how dare you talk to her first?”

“Hey.” Dean says, “Bela called _me_. Trying to fence some—Wait.” Dean squints. “Ex?”

Charlie nods.

“But, you still run _Gremlin_ together.”

Wrinkled nose, “Uhhh-huh.”

“Awkward.”

“Y’think so?”

Dean’s commlink chirps. He checks his wrist. “That’s Sam.” He slips a folded napkin from his pocket, drops it on the table. “Meet me here, eight-U tomorrow.”

“I didn’t say yes,” Charlie grumbles.

Dean winks. “You will.”

She nurses her gin nebula until the smoke makes her eyes all pasty. Drops a few scrips and ducks out to the street. Downtown Zhago’s skyscrapers blot out all but a sliver of stars. Dust and ash fall, swirl on the updrafts. Neon whines. Crumpled paper, broken glass crunch underfoot.

Charlie pulls her flight jacket tight around her, collar up. Pedicabs and cycles churn over pocked pavement. Murky water sprays from their wheels.

“Hey, beautiful, where you goin?” From a broken balcony above. “That curtain match the rug, sweet thing? I love me a red-headed woman!”

“Yeah, so do I!” Charlie flashes him fingers, “Sedhole,” keeps her pace.

Half a block down, CAS stands watch outside the chop shop where the _Gremlin_ ’s moored. Not the safest harbor, but they don’t get nosy about ships’ registrations or crew manifests, so.

Little girl—maybe six, seven cycles old—bubbles with laughter. “You talk funny!”

CAS sinks to a knee, intent. “Do I?”

She nods.

“Please, child. Tell me more. Historically my attempts at humor—”

Giggling. “What, _are_ you?”

CAS straightens. “I am a Celestial Android Systems S Series. My friends call me—”

“Yo CAS!” Kev yells down from a filthy window. Cheap, citrine diodes cast his hair a grosser green than usual. “Little help up here!”

“I must go now.” CAS pats the girl on her pigtailed head. Charlie falls in next to him. “Hello, Charlie. Bela has been… eager for your return. Do you have news?”

“I don’t know yet.” Charlie codes a keypad, gestures CAS inside. Old pulley lift chugs and lurches. Street noise fades as they climb.

“I don’t understand.” CAS tilts his head. “How can you not know whether you have news.”

Charlie grins. “I guess it’s more like, I don’t know _if_ what I have is news _worthy_. Gotta check with—”

“Twenty-five thousand?” Bela shouts in a headset. “You must be joking! It’s worth four times—” She spots Charlie. “No.” Points at her ear. “Impossible.” Eyes roll. “No, no, and no. But you can call me, if you decide to make a serious offer.” She switches off. “Idiot.”

“Please keep me apprised, Captain.” CAS veers off to check on Kev.

“Client?” Charlie asks.

“Not at that price.” Bela joins her on the _Gremlin_ gangplank. “Witless hunter thinks I’ll bargain because, he’s ‘saving the system.’ They’re _all_ saving the system; I have to earn a living.”

Main airlock opens. Charlie follows Bela through. “I met with Dean.”

Hint of perfume, fruit and yesmin. “He’s a madman, you know.”

Side-by-side down the narrow corridor. “Yeah, well.” Shoulders jostle. “Kinda makes him loveable.”

“Kind of makes him dangerous,” Bela says.

“You wanna say no?”

They pause outside Bela’s cabin. “No harm hearing his plan.” She hesitates. “If we did this…”

Figuring Charlie’s cut, “I could buy you out.” She looks around. “Fix _Gremlin_.”

“You could do almost anything.”

 

*

Harvelle’s Galaxy Grill occupies a lonely orbit high above the wheatfield moon of Nebraxa. Kev flips on the comms, inputs the codes Dean wrote on the napkin. 

Vast hangar bay doors split; guidelights blaze. Not another boat in sight.

Charlie shifts in her chair. “Hey, Kev? Anybody answer your hail?”

Deep, angry beeping foretells, “Negative.”

“Well, I’m not feeling terribly welcome,” Bela says. Taps on her con. “Mag scrambled. Life scans are useless.”

Which, not suspicious, in itself. None of these outposts cater to the law-and-order set.

“I suggest we prepare to encounter a trap.” CAS lowers his arm. Servos whine, latches click, and a shock lance drops into his palm.

“Put that away!” Charlie has _got_ to find someone to tune his aggro.

“You trust these hunters?” CAS retracts his weapon.

Charlie slumps. “Dean’s a lot of things, but I don’t think he’d—”

“Lead us into an ambush?” Bela presses a panel; drawer extends with a hiss. “That makes one of us.”

“Seriously?”

Bela holsters her mini pulse pistol and shrugs.

Charlie rubs her forehead. “You have the bridge, Kev. CAS, look after him.”

Cavernous flight deck amplifies, echoes their steps. Liftcar zips down, whispers open on the tavern level. Room straight out of the Ancient Frontier. Hardwood, not sim. Bottles in amber, emerald, and sapphire. Light fixtures inside cages.

No people.

“Hello!” Bela ducks between batwing doors next to the bar.

Groundnut shells litter the floor. Giant aurochs horns stretch the length of the pulse-scorched bar. Nebraxa spins in and out of sight through the portholes.

_Click._

Charlie freezes. “Aw, Sol, please let that be a rifle,” poking at her spine.

 _Hummmmm_ —pulse spins up.

“No, I’m just real happy to see you. Don’t, move.”

Charlie spares a thought for Bela. “Not moving. Copy that.”

Footsteps. “Yeah but you shot him!” Dean’s voice, getting louder. “Sammy forgives, but me—Hey! What the frack, Jo? Knock it off!”

Rifle powers down. “Friends of yours?” Jo asks.

“You know they are.”

Charlie gets an eyeful of Jo. Too-small tank top, low-rise jeans. _Concentrate_. “All right. Let’s hear the pitch.”

Dean smiles, supernova. “This way.”

Sam taps on a commlink, activates viewscreens over the bar.

“This,” Dean says, “is the star yacht _Winter Sky_.”

“Obviously,” Bela mutters.

Eyebrow, but Dean goes on. “Three hundred and eighty-one days per cycle, it’s locked down at the Christmas Shipyards.”

“Dean,” Sam’s mouth screws up. Salty, “Grade-threes know this.”

He is undeterred. “The _Winter Sky_ only flies on Newcycle’s Eve, when the Christmases invite all their rich and royal pals for their annual gala.”

“Yes, yes,” Bella sighs. “And the Christmas Princess,” the old saying goes, “shall dance for the Newcycle’s gifts in a crown of starlight.”

“We’re gonna steal that crown,” Dean says.

“You’re gonna go to prison.” Jo flips long blonde hair over a shoulder. “I’m gettin out the good stuff.”

 

*

Charlie tips back against the cushions, winds her fingers in a mop of dark curls. Knockout, calls herself Zenovia these days—squirms in Charlie’s lap. Bites at her earlobes, drags her flight-suit zipper down. Warm breath, soft kisses at Charlie’s pulse points. Naked, smooth, and tan.

Chirp and a swish. Dean strolls in. “Heya, Charlie, I figured—Whoa-hey! What the, son of a vix, I’ll come back!”

“Wait,” Charlie pushes up. Zenovia drapes around her. “You know, you could fix that lock, save us all these embarrassments.”

“It’s on my list,” Dean grumbles. Forearm blocks his eyes, but Charlie’d bet real scrips he sees everything.

“You here for the party, greasemonkey?” Zenovia purrs, “I’ll do you next.”

“You most certainly will not.” Charlie smacks her rear; Zenovia squeaks. “Go raid the galley, willya? Find us a snack.”

She pulls a face, picks up her gown. Shimmery smartcloth tucks and folds so nothing shows, and yet… She slinks for the door. “See ya, greasemonkey.” Long garnet nails gleam against his dirty sleeve.

“You can’t afford her,” Charlie says.

“No kiddin.” Dean leans out, dark-near faceplants, watching her walk away. “You two…”

“Go way back, if it’s your business.” Charlie zips up. “What you _should_ know is, she’s a paying passenger, and therefore outranks you.”

“Naturally.” Dean stands there.

“Dude. What do you want?”

“Oh! I rebuilt your Cochrane relay.” Smirk. “Oughta get a lot more thrust now.”

Charlie rolls her eyes.

“You’re gonna need a new one eventually, but after this score? You can get a whole new _truck_.”

“Or a jailhouse tattoo, either way.”

Dean takes a breath. “Hey, listen. Once we get to Zephyra, we need to make a stop.”

“Sure. Where to?”

“Sienna Valley.”

“Fancy.”

“The-uh… Crossroads Ranch.”

“Ohhhh no. Nope, nope, nope, nope—”

“We _need_ him to get us in that party.”

“Bela, is going to feed you, to her cat.” And Charlie’s not gonna stop her.

“Crowley won’t know it’s her until it’s too late. Sam bought a glamour off—”

“You know what?” Charlie shows her palms. “Leave me out of this.”

“Don’t worry.” Dean licks his lips and smiles, smoldering. “I’ll handle Bela.”

Charlie’s stupid broken door doesn’t even beep when CAS prowls in. “Hello, Dean.” Right up on him.

Dean jumps like a skyball pro, and Charlie cracks up. Personal space glitch drives her around the moon, but Dean’s face right now? Maybe she’ll keep it.

“Hello, Charlie. We have been cleared to initiate launch.”

Charlie asks, “Is the relay good to go?”

“Oh yeah!” Dean leers. “Nice, snug Cochrane’ll keep your motor runnin—”

“Oh for Sol’s—”

“I found Kee cheese,” Zenovia breaks in, “drop bread, anan cubes…”

“Flawless.” Charlie motions her over. “You two, get the frack out.” Smartcloth tumbles; Zenovia straddles Charlie’s lap. “And fix my door!”

 

*

She only knows this Crowley by reputation. Fixer. Wheeler-dealer. Man who can get things. Also a sociopath, grudge-holder, and rumored dog-fighting enthusiast. So, in sum, an all-around real hose.

Orchards of anan and citrine flank a pale stone villa. Dean steers his vintage runabout, _Baby_ —old Impala class—toward a courtyard. Gorgeous machine. Wonder she still flies. Testament to Dean’s talent for all things spacecraft. She is mint.

Slim tree trunks bend in their wash. Dust swirls blot out the mansion’s façade. Couple of heavies in sharp suits greet them, lead them through barred gates, down a polished hallway. Gilt-frame mirrors loom across from tall windows. Candles burn in blackened sconces; ornate carvings line the walls.

Their escorts lead Charlie and her merry band into a study. Fresco murals recreate the orchards outside. Stiff-backed chairs face a massive desk. Emerald-shaded lamp and a very expensive blotter set.

Crowley strides through a side entrance. Charlie… thought he’d be taller. Silk suit and manicure, frackin spats.

“Hello, boys,” he croons. “Ladies.”

Charlie tenses.

Crowley takes in her flight suit and ponytail with a glance. Spots Bela. “Well, now. Aren’t you lovely?”

“Easy, big boy.” Jo steps in. “She’s spoken for.”

Bela, glamoured up to be Zenovia, curls behind her.

“You’re my socialite then, I take it.” Crowley moves for the desk.

“Kasey Kringle.” Jo pulls Bela closer. “Plus one.”

“Which leaves the Brothers Dim for your bodyguards.” He hands out dat sheets. “Identification, biographies, security clearance.” One to spare. “And these are maintenance credentials.” Sam raises his hand. Last, Crowley slips a thumbjack from his pocket. “Just need to link your biometrics to the files.”

Dean supplies his thumbprint. Sam, Jo. Charlie sweats. Bela giggles. Giggles! Strokes the sensor like she’s trying to get it off.

Four beeps.

“Excellent. Now kindly remove that great black heap of overcompensation from my courtyard.” Crowley’s heavies hold the doors.

Charlie manages, _Be cool. Don’t sprint_.

Dean, on the other hand, singes some treetops peeling out.

Klaxon sounds. Instruments flare and Sam yells, “Missile loose!”

“Guess the bioscans came back,” Dean mutters. “Hang onto your hoses.”

“Dude,” Charlie says.

“Sexist,” Bella adds.

“And gross.” Jo gripes.

Dean flips a grin over his shoulder. Hauls back on the wheel. _Baby_ climbs, shakes in a shockwave.

“Detonated,” Sam says. “Guess he just wanted to piss you off.”

“He scorched my thermo-coat, he’ll see pissed off.”

Charlie breathes, roots down in her seat to enjoy the ride for once.

 

*

Bela’s gown clings to her every curve, from its deep-vee, sweetheart neck down to her knees, where it flares to a wide bell with a short train. Black silk. Sapphire, silver, and amethyst beads dust the bodice, trail like falling stars around her hips. Jo sweeps up in a barely-there slip of silver spangles. Thin straps crisscross her back to a swingy, micro-miniskirt.

Charlie swallows. Can’t decide which one to be jealous of.

Kev pushes in a hovercart from engineering. Stops cold and his jaw drops. “Uh… I-uh… have your commlinks.”

Wide, dangle earrings, made from the spangles of Jo’s dress. Jeweled hairpins, pushed into Bela’s crown of curls.

“We can’t talk to you, but we’ll hear everything on the penthouse decks.” Kev explains. “Surfing the orchestra broadcast.”

“This thing on?” Dean struts through the bay doors, tapping his third button. Tux pants, cummerbund, crisp white shirt. Broad, muscled shoulders strain the fabric.

Sam holds their jackets, pressed on hangers. “Nooo, Dean.” Audible eyeroll. “You heard Kev, he can’t activate them until we’re through security.”

“ _You’re_ security,” Dean says.

Sam shakes his head. He could pass for one of Crowley’s goons: all-black suit, shirt, and tie. Hair’s slicked under an old-school driver’s cap. Shoes shine like thermo-coat.

Charlie blinks. Only ever seen Sam swimming in layers before—better to fend off monster teeth—but dark. Sam’s got a _body_.

CAS accompanies Zenovia, tangle of jewelry in her fist.

“I hope this is okay,” she says. “It’s all sim.”

A-plus quality sim, Charlie notes. Zee’s jewelry collection back home is worth half Charlie’s ship.

Zenovia sets a waterfall of silver chains around Jo’s neck, loops matching bracelets on her wrists. For Bela, one thick diamond cuff.

Dean opens a velvet box. Wide collar necklace sparkles. Bela turns her back, pulls curled tendrils aside. Dean clicks the clasp; she faces him.

“This pendant,” nestled between her collarbones, “is our get-out-of-the-yacht card.” He takes Bela’s hand, guides her fingers. “Feel that catch?”

She nods.

“One just like it in the crown.” Hand lingers.

Bela peers up at him. “Marvelous work.”

Sam scratches behind his neck.

“We doing this or what?” Jo’s fingers tense white, wrapped around her clutch.

Dean looks around. “Everybody in this barge is the best in the system at what they do.” He smirks. “We got this.”

Bela stares at him until he squirms. “You know,” she murmurs, “when this is over, we should really have angry sex.”

Dean blinks. “Don’t… objectify me!”

Sam snorts.

“Please,” Charlie says. “You love it.”

Dean grumbles.

CAS intones, “Good luck, everyone.”

 _Baby_ ’s gullwing doors hiss open. Sam takes the stick, Dean shotgun. Bela helps Jo into the back. Shoots a glance at Charlie and climbs in after.

Kev and Charlie, CAS and Zenovia fall back to the airlock. Watch as Sam flies, smooth as glass, out the cargo doors.

 

*

 _“I’m gonna loop you into our sensors.”_ Dean’s voice pops with interference. _“You gotta see this.”_

Luxury shuttles by the dozen orbit Norpole Station. Zephyra gleams topaz in the distance. Looming over all of them, _Winter Sky_. Most expensive private orbiter ever built.

“Wowww,” Kev breathes.

Transparent geodesic domes rise off the hull. Underneath, lights sparkle out of a thousand portholes. Dropships dock. Cleared drivers cruise into gleaming hangar bays.

_“Hey, we gotta stop broadcasting now.”_

“Copy that,” Kev says.

“ _Be back on the air before you know it.”_

Charlie frackin hopes.

Bridge doors swish and Zenovia steps through. “Uh, Charlie? Can I…”

“Yeah, sure.” Charlie nods at Bela’s vacant seat. “But it’s no fun.”

“That’s okay.” She settles in. Soft gray pants puddle too-long at her feet. Hair spills from a messy ponytail. “Just too weird, down there all alone.”

Charlie gets that.

“Yes!” Kev hisses. “I got video!”

“Punch it up!” Charlie says.

“Well… I decrypted the firewall key. _You_ gotta hack the circuit.”

“What do I pay you for?” Charlie grumbles. Pulls Kev’s key up on her console.

“You _don’t_ pay me.” Flat. “Unless you count hot dogs.”

“I keep you clear of Crowley’s mooks.” Charlie types commands. “That’s worth something.” Tap-tap. “Gotcha.”

Viewscreens fill with security feeds. “That one.” CAS points.

Kev puts Bela, Jo, and Dean up on the main viewer. Jo flirts, giggles, and bites her lips—like she was born for the red carpet. Bela poses her, coy smile. Arm around Jo’s waist, Jo’s knee bent, heel kicked up. Flashbulbs explode. Dean hangs back, out of frame. Any other couple, that big hot bodyguard might stick out.

Pixie cut in a pantsuit directs Dean, cues him to move them along.

“What’s the next camera?” Charlie asks.

Kev’s console buzzes. “We-uh… better break that vidlink.”

“Sniffer bot’s on us already, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kev nods. “Video’s gonna be… iffy.”

 

*

 _“—hope you’re hearing what I’m saying to you,”_ Bela purrs.

Charlie spins in her chair and stomps her feet. “Kev, you’re a miracle worker!”

“No big deal,” he gloats. “Just had to resolve three audio inputs, decrypt the signals, and filter out the orchestra.”

“Yeah, smug’s not a good look.”

“Shut up!”

“Hey, CAS.” Charlie turns. “You get eyes on Sam before?”

“Unfortunately, I did not. Likely the ship’s lower decks have sparser coverage.”

“Kev, you think we can look for him yet?”

“I wouldn’t,” Kev says. “The more we use it now, the less we’ll have it later.”

Fair point.

 _“Nnnooo,”_ Jo giggles. _“I’m_ sure _we’ve never met before! One of my sisters, maybe. Kasey Kringle. So nice to meet you!”_

It’s a good act, if a little gag-inducing.

 _“Ladies,”_ Dean speaks up, _“they’re calling you for dinner.”_

And CAS announces, “ _Winter Sky_ is underway.”

Gas clouds billow from stabilizing thrusters. Pilot engines glow, faint sapphire; main burner flares citrine. _Winter Sky_ sails smooth away from Norpole. Charlie pilots _Gremlin_ into the yacht’s wake. Hopes Dean’s engine camo works as promised.

“Kev, scan for emissions.”

“Aye, Cap.” Kev spins to a side con. “Perfect. We look just like a normal dispersion murmur.”

Charlie sets the nav for a follow course. Not much left to do now. “You know what?” Long wait until midnight. “I could use food too. Who’s with me?”

 

*

Sound of vapid dinner conversation filters through the _Gremlin_ ’s PA.

Jo squeaks, _“Ohhhh, I know!”_ Sells Kasey Kringle. _“Kit, Kara, Kinga, Kelsey, and Kandace were_ so, sad _they couldn’t make it!”_

Bela goads, _“Have another sienna, darling.”_

“Bullets!” Zenovia whoops. “You owe me fifty scrips!”

By scrips, of course, she means groundnuts. Charlie’s crew rarely has scrips to rub together. Kev starts grumbling, counting.

Jo hiccups and giggles. No way her regulars would buy it, but the rich and brainless?

“You’re bust!” Zenovia squeals again. “Fifty scrips!”

Kev bangs his forehead on the table.

 

*

“All right, let’s reset this vidlink.” Charlie perches on her chair edge. Swipes and types. “Bring up the main viewer?”

Kev taps. “On it.”

“Get me the ballroom.”

Big screen blinks to life.

“Wow,” Zee says, pretty much for everyone.

Under the dome, walls draped in sparkling blue and purple wrap around a parquet dancefloor. Oak and mahogany planks spin out like starshine. Twinkle lights and mirror balls flash over the revelers. Up above, a balcony, looking right out to the sky.

Princess Sarah sweeps through the space like an ancient goddess. Gown of pale chiffon. Shoulder straps trail away to streamers off her back. Layered, liquid skirts and a wide jeweled belt.

The Starlight Tiara.

Soaring, tall above her forehead. Clustered diamonds swirl around its base like ocean waves. Swooping festoons rise to seven crests, each topped with a four-point star. In the center, ringed by sunburst rays, the Star of Christmas.

“There she is, boys,” Charlie breathes.

“Excuse me?” Zenovia eyes her.

Charlie almost grins. “Y’know, that’s… usually Bela’s line.”

 

*

_“One!”_

Music and cheers, Newcycle’s blessings. Jo breathes an awkwardly realistic moan.

 _“Ladies, that’s—”_ frackin Dean, _“completely inappropriate!”_ Cute when he’s coy.

“We ever get eyes on Sam?” Charlie knows he’s a big boy. Still…

“I expect him to reach the stateroom,” CAS feeds a causeway cam to the main viewer, “now.”

White shirt, open collar, dark jeans. He ducks into the stateroom and Kev disconnects.

“CAS, you have his flight plan, yeah?” Charlie asks.

“Affirmative.”

Fifteen clicks, Sam’s right on time. “Got him,” Kev pipes up. Down in the ship’s guts, reprogramming a liftcar.

“Time check,” Charlie calls.

“Twenty past,” Zenovia answers.

 _“Jo, have a look!”_ Bela stage-whispers. _“Sarah Christmas is leaving already.”_

CAS breaks in, “Sam is broadcasting.”

 _“—hope you’ve got your ears on.”_ It’s a long walk back to Sarah’s quarters.

Frack, Charlie wishes she could get him a message.

One click passes.

Four.

Eight clicks. Sam should be popping up in the servants’ causeway…

Charlie squirms. “We have audio on this deck, right?”

“Yup,” Kev says. “Sam’s just quiet.”

 _“Hello there.”_ Feminine, kind, and well-bred. _“Happy Newcycle.”_

 _“Thank you, ma’am,”_ Sam says.

_“Please don’t ma’am me.”_

_“I’m sorry, ma—sorry.”_

_“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,”_ the girl says.

 _“I know, I… I think I got on the wrong liftcar. I’m supposed to—”_ Charlie can picture the ducked head, stooped shoulders _. “Am I fired?”_

 _“No.”_ Amused. _“You’re not fired.”_

 _“Thank you, ma—”_ Sam huffs. _“What can I call you?”_

_“Sarah.”_

_“Wait, you’re not… Sarah Christmas? Princess Sarah?”_

_“Plain Sarah. Blake. My mom was a Christmas.”_

_“Hi Plain Sarah Blake. I’m Sam.”_

_“My pleasure, Sam.”_

_“I don’t… mean to be a jerk,”_ Sam says, _“but, you’re not supposed to be here either, are you?”_

Sarah laughs. _“Now you_ sound _like my mom.”_

Charlie can hear Sam’s wince. _“Sorry.”_

Stretched silence.

 _“Tell you what,”_ Sarah says, _“I used to crawl all over these decks when I was a little girl. Where are you trying to go?”_

Sam stammers, _“Uh, this stateroom?”_

“Is he…?” Kev asks.

“Sh!” Charlie says.

 _“Oh! Yeah, that’s… I’m gonna tell you a secret, Sam.”_ Hollow, metal sounds.

“Get me eyes!” Charlie orders.

Main viewer clicks on. Sarah, dressed in a long quartz sweater with leggings, crouches next to the bulkhead, holding a loose access panel.

_“Climb down one level, push the seam, you’ll be right there.”_

“Did she just…?” Kev asks.

“Oh, that is way better than Dean’s route,” Charlie says. “He’s gonna be so steamed.”

Zenovia mumbles, “He is _good_.”

 

*

Two hours later and Zenovia has cleaned out the entire galley of snack foods. She curls in Bela’s chair, pops handfuls of puffed rizo while they watch the viewscreen.

Bela, full-on cat burglar, exits the stateroom. Opens Sarah’s secret panel and vanishes inside.

Charlie switches to the service causeway. Bela climbs out. One deck down, Dean heads for the hangar bay.

“Guys,” Kev warns, “we’ve got a problem.”

“Captain, you should hear this,” CAS taps his console.

 _“…general lockdown,”_ the main speakers drone, _“Please escort guests to their staterooms. Repeat. Security alert. Initiate general…”_

“That just flooded the civilian security channel,” CAS says.

Onscreen, Sam appears with a housekeeping cart. Looks at the camera and taps his ear. No eyes inside Sarah’s suite, but Bela should be—

“Aw, frack you, Frank.” Charlie cuts the vidlink.

“Frank?” Kev asks.

“This sniffer bot.” Charlie types her way to a jade light. “Codes like a Frank.” Stateroom causeway blinks on. “Son of a vix.”

Sam’s talking to a steward, housekeeping cart jammed against the access panel.

“Wish I could tell what they’re saying,” Charlie mumbles.

“We’re supposed to be on lockdown,” Zenovia pipes up. “Had to change a light bulb. Some purse dog’s heat lamp.”

Charlie stares. “You can lipread?”

Zee shrugs. “Information is money.” Nods at the screen. “I’m gone, I promise.” Crams a handful of cereal. Mumbles, “Happy Newcycle.”

The steward moves off. Sam opens the panel and hauls Bela out.

Charlie cuts the feed.

 

*

_“Dispatch, this is eight-eight-one.”_

Ship’s security. Nothing else to listen in on.

 _“I have two guests here—”_ He splutters. Jo’s giggle transmits loud and clear. _“Dispatch, they don’t seem to know where they’re headed.”_

_“Copy, eight-eight-one, please describe.”_

Charlie chews her nails.

_“One blonde, petite; one brunette—”_

_“Yeah, we’re looking for them, eight-eight-one. Got a real worried bodyguard on the line.”_

Dean’s voice: _“Hey-uh, sorry about that, brother; they’re mine. Can you escort them to hangar bay six?”_

This time, Jo moans. Bela laughs.

Poor steward stammers, _“W-will—ladies, please! Will do, dispatch.”_

 

*

Charlie types furiously. “Hey Kev, how’s that key coming?” Can’t get the hangar’s maglocks disengaged.

“Working on it.” Kev swipes and pinches. Citrine and sapphire glow across his face.

“CAS, you find Sam yet?” Charlie asks.

“He’s just reached the airlock.”

Up on the main viewer, Sam scans his driver’s pass. Last door standing between him and his ride out. Lock mechanism flares an unfriendly color. Sam turns.

Sarah Blake. Pulse pistol in a steady, two-hand grip.

Zenovia says, “You have my diamond.”

Charlie looks up.

Sarah’s chin jerks.

“Turn around. Hands on your head.”

Sam complies. Sarah pulls his maintenance badge off.

“This is fake, I take it.” Zenovia munches away.

She pats him down. Squints when she reaches his right hip pocket.

“I told you.”

Charlie shakes her head. Bela probably dumped it on him in the stateroom. Probably _planned_ to dump it on him back at Harvelle’s.

Sarah circles, pistol up. Says something and taps her ring. Twin to the Star of Christmas sparkles.

Sam keeps his hands on his head.

“What do you know, about your stone?” Zenovia translates.

Sarah gestures; Sam nods.

“Then you know it’s precious, obviously, but—”

Sam searches her face.

“Do you know about its magic value?”

Sarah cocks her head.

“Sarah, my dad’s missing.” Zenovia straightens up. “What the dusk, Charlie, how’d you not tell me that?” She looks back at the screen. “This stone…”

Sam’s chin falls. Eyes flutter up under his bangs.

“It’s the best chance we—my brother and me—we’ve ever had to find him.”

She lowers the gun, turns toward the comms panel. Sam goes on.

“That one, in your ring, it’s real, just… not pure enough. Not for the spell.”

And Sarah says—

“You’re serious about this.”

Sam again:

“Please. No one will ever find out, short of a molecular scan.”

He taps his earbud.

“I notice you haven’t reported it stolen—hey that’s a good point!” Zenovia says.

Sarah shakes her head.

“I hate that… expletive crown.”

“Seriously?” Charlie asks.

“Shut up!” Zenovia throws rizo. “Cussing’s rude!” With her mouthful, “She hates the ring, too.”

Charlie snickers; it _is_ hideous.

“Sarah, you said, your mom… was a Christmas. She passed away, didn’t she?” Zee sits up in her chair. “Oooo, plot twist!”

Sarah nods. Chews on her thumbnail.

“Wouldn’t you have done anything? To save her?”

Sarah activates a palm scan. Lights flip jade.

“Dusk, he is _real_ good,” Zenovia says.

And even Charlie can read Sam’s, “Thank you.”

“Good luck, finding your dad.”

Sarah lays the Star of Christmas in his palm. Lingers as she pulls away.

Airlock doors separate, and Dean starts dropping _Baby_ ’s gullwings. Sam dashes, slides, and boards. Perfect timing.

“Got the key!” Kev shouts.

Charlie cracks her knuckles. “Let’s get em outta there!”

Maglocks break and _Baby_ lifts. Hangar bay doors trundle open and she sails out into the night.

 _“Hot chick to mother bird, hot chick to mother bird. Get that nest feathered; we are comin home!”_ Dean whoops in the radio.

“Don’t get cocky, cowboy,” Charlie barks. “You get back in this cargo bay now!”

_“Copy that!”_

Scanners track the old Impala’s tight path under _Winter Sky_. Dean breaks off in a flash of engines, banks hard—pulls G’s—and lines up off Charlie’s rear.

_“All right, Sammy, just like a woman, gotta go in niiiice and—”_

Charlie gags, cuts the audio, switches on aft cameras. _Baby_ glides into the cargo bay, sets down steady. “Okay, gang, let’s see about gettin—”

Sirens. Charlie’s display lights up ruby.

“We’ve got drones!” Kev yells.

And CAS reports, “ _Winter Sky_ has launched her extra-vehicular lancer fleet.”

Dean bursts in. “Hey, what’s the ruckus?”

Charlie pulls up spec sheets. “We got evils on our tail.” Sends code to an auxiliary con. “Dean, fly this thing, willya? Bela, nav for him. Sam, take pest control. And CAS, I need you on shields.”

“Aye, Captain.” Chorus.

Dark, she loves that.

Zenovia stands, makes way for Bela. Charlie pulls her aside. “Might get a little bumpy. You and Jo, go to my quarters and strap in.” Zee’s eyes sparkle and Charlie points. “Cut it out; you’re worse than Dean.”

Kiss on her cheek, and Zenovia huffs, “That greasemonkey got nothin on me.”

“Touché.” Charlie squeezes her hand. Time to get to work.

 _Winter Sky_ ’s lancer drones breach safe proximity.

“Comms are jammed,” Kev says.

Dean shoves down the stick. _Gremlin_ nosedives. Lurches. “Sammy, my five, I can’t shake him!”

Sam fires. _Gremlin_ rocks.

“Too close, guys!” Charlie swipes through code. “Kev, get me comms!”

“I’m working on it!” Angry beeps and buzzes say, not so successfully.

CAS announces, “Shields at eighty-one percent.”

“Where’s that jammer?” Charlie grits her teeth. “Sam, can you target a signal source?” She bounces in her seat.

“Hard left!” Dean warns.

Charlie’s stomach swoops.

Sam’s console beeps. “Got it!”

“Fire!”

Pulse cannons discharge.

“Comms up!” Kev shouts.

Charlie launches an override command. “Come on, come on.” Amber lights.

BOOM!

Sparks shower and lights flash.

“Gotta do better’n that, little brother!”

CAS says, “Shields now at fifty-nine percent.”

“Blow me.” Sky ignites as Sam sprays cannon fire into the swarm.

Charlie types. Swipes and sweats.

“Next wave incoming,” Bela calls. “Brace for—”

 _Gremlin_ quakes.

Dean banks, Sam fires.

“Shields at forty-one percent.”

“Tell you what, CAS, just shut up about it until we hit ten.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Kev, can you push this code to the dispatch?”

“Yup-yup.” Tap-tap. “Just gimme onnne…” Triumphant beeping. “Hit it!”

Charlie sends a command.

Outside, all the lights go out.

“Dean, get us outta here!”

“Copy that!”

Acceleration pins Charlie to her seat. She radios Zenovia. “You girls okay back there?”

“I’m great,” Zee says. “Can’t say so much for your upholstery—”

“Aw, come on!”

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding!” Zenovia purrs, “Just keeping it warm for you.”

 

*

Solrise. _Gremlin_ orbits high above Nebraxa. Cargo bay doors wide, first rays of morning flare above the curved horizon. Sam raises the Star of Christmas. “Last ingredient, pure starlight.” Drops of rainbow glimmer off the bulkheads.

On the deck, star charts. Spread in a circle and soaked with seawater, yesmin, and mirr. Sam chants in Eldrin, tilts and pans the stone.

Charlie gasps as points of light converge. Dancing, zipping down the bulkheads, flickering over the deck. Brighter and brighter. Narrowing, coalescing until…

“I got it, Sam.” Dean scribbles down coordinates. “One of the mining domes on Gaul.”

“You think Dad’s there?”

“One way to find out.” Dean toes at a soggy map. “Guess you better clean this up, huh?”

“Me?”

“Your mess, Sammy…”

 _Morons_. Charlie chuckles, radios Zee. “Hey, we’re all done down here. Wanna meet me in my bunk?”

“Sure!” crackles back. “Grab the big one, huh? The chauffeur—”

“No.” Charlie heads for the hab deck. “You know the rules, no fraternizing with the help.”

“The help?!” Sam and Dean squawk behind her.

Zenovia laughs.

 

*

Sam loads bags in _Baby_ ’s cargo hold. Gripes, “You could’ve told me you were gonna plant that thing on me.”

Bela’s remorseless. “If you’d have known, you’d have acted nervous. Almost certainly gotten us all caught.”

“She’s kinda got you there, Sammy.” Dean strolls in, snickering.

Sam pulls a face. “Too much to ask _you_ to stick up for me?”

“Way too much.” Dean takes Charlie’s hand. “As promised.” Drops the Star of Christmas in her palm. “Listen, I know you girls are thinking you’ll fence that stone, maybe sell this ship and start over…”

Charlie squints.

“And I ain’t gonna tell you what to do, just. What I know.”

Bela folds her arms.

“You ever wonder why Crowley backed this operation? Why he let us go, even after he figured out who you were?”

Sure Charlie wondered. But, she also knows, Dean tells what Dean wants.

“I didn’t say anything, y’know, up front, in case it all went sideways, but…” Dean takes a breath. “Bela? Crowley wants that stone. You take it to him, he’ll clear your contract.”

“You’re joking,” she says.

“No,” Dean frowns. “I wouldn’t mess with you about something like that, come on.”

Charlie’s gonna need a click to wrap her head around—

“No strings attached?”

Bela, out from under Crowley.

“Clean slate,” Dean says.

If Charlie agrees.

Sam seals the hold. “You ready yet?”

Dean shakes his head. “Kid’s got zero patience.” He hugs Charlie’s neck. “Take care of yourself, Cap.”

“Yeah, you too, greasemonkey.”

Dean smirks.

Sam hugs her too.

Bela holds them at handshakes, but, “We must do this again sometime.”

“Can’t get enough of me, huh?” Dean preens.

“You’ve utterly no understanding of social graces, have you?”

Sam throws an elbow and boards the dropship. Charlie and Bela fall back to the airlock. Dean salutes, initiates pre-flight.

Bela’s eyes flick Charlie’s way, toward the hand that holds the Star. “It occurs to me,” she says, “that so long as that diamond’s onboard—”

Charlie finishes, “Crowley won’t dare blow us up.”

Bela nods. “Of course, we’d be forced to continue our… partnership.”

 “Yeah,” Charlie sighs. “Can’t beat it for insurance though.”

“And,” Bela nudges her shoulder, “we could repeat Sam’s locator spell.”

Land a couple of big scores, Charlie can see that.

“Stick together a wee bit longer?” Bela bats those eyes. “Could be fun. What do you say?”

Charlie nudges back. Bela’s a lot of things, but she’s never boring.

Outside, Dean fires _Baby_ ’s thrusters and they cruise into the black.

Charlie says, “I’m in.”


End file.
